Not Like This
by unending
Summary: "Do you think I want to be like this? Do you think I want to be a fag? NO! You piece of shit, I don't!" The pistol jerked in Mickey's hands as he angrily rubbed the palms against his closed eyes, he would not cry! "You fucking waste of a father! YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS! YOU MADE ME LIKE, LIKE..." Mickey trailed off as he pulled at his hair. Ian's gone. Gone. Gone. And Mickey's done.


"Do you think I want to be like this? Do you think I want to be a fag? NO! You piece of shit, I don't!"

The pistol jerked in Mikey's hands as he angrily rubbed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes, he would not cry!

"You fucking waste of a father! YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS! YOU MADE ME LIKE, LIKE..." Mikey trailed off as he pulled at his hair, searching for the right words "like THIS!" Desperately gesturing at himself, finger resting dangerously on the trigger of the cocked gun.

Mikey wiped around the barrel of the gun aimed loosely at the ground "FUCK!" He screamed as he threw the bottle of cheap alcohol against the abandoned warehouse wall.

A clang as Mikey dropped the gun to the floor and starred at the ground, the first moment of silence in 3 hours. Shakily he dialed a number on his phone. No one picked up and the line beeped indicating he should leave a message. Mikey said nothing for a long moment, only breathed rapidly into the phone. "Y-you..." He trailed off "fuck, fuck, fuck!" He muttered into his palms. "Firecrotch, FUCK YOU!" Mikey paused, he could have sworn he heard a click as the line picked up but there was nothing to here but his own ragged, choked breathing. "ASSHOLE!" Another pause and Mikey tried to hold back a sob but it broke through his lips "You know that I couldn't! Can't!" Mikey hurtled to his feet and spun, gun now in his hands and let three bullets fly at the wall right were he had been yelling at the imaginary Terry only minutes before. He imagined the shells ripping through his pasty chest, tearing apart his heart. Mikey waited for the thump of a body but it didn't come.

Breathing savagely Mikey wouldn't let himself cry but spoke softly into the receiver "I l-love you... A-and I'm g-" Mikey choked on his words, swallowed, let out a broken sob "and I'm g-gay."

Three minutes passed before Mikey got his voice under control and there was no stopping his tears now, even though he wiped angrily at them. "Don't fucking die Gallagher, don't you fucking die..." Silence "God damnt! You'll be better off without me!" It sounded as if he was convincing himself "you'll be better off without me..." It was only a whisper but all the conviction in the world was in that fragment sentence "goodbye."

Mikey was never going to see anyone ever again, there would be no one to hit him with a closed fist if they saw his puffy eyes or laugh and call him a pussy if they caught him with tear stains, and so he let himself cry. He cried for everything he'd ever had to deal with; his mother, his father, his sister, even his brothers but most of all he cried for Ian. Their first time, their fights, how Ian was always there even when Mikey did his best to push him away, their first kiss, the night before they were caught and how perfect it had been, and for having to see the look in Gallagher's eyes as he was forced to fuck that Russian whore, the kiss they shared as his wedding went on above them and when he left, how Mikey couldn't tell him to say, couldn't get the words out. Mikey gave in.

His eyes were blurry, filled with his tears but he didn't need to see to do what he wanted.

Half blind, Mikey shifted the pistol in his hand so that his finger rested stiffly over the trigger.

The dirt between Mikey's fingers grated uncomfortably as he became un-characteristically still. The head of the cold pistol lulled heavily against Mikey's temple; a death weight.

Mikey did not shake, he was a Milcovitch after all and he would not tremble or cry, he had lived like a Milcovitch and he would die like one. His tear tracks, long sense dried against his flushed cheeks, jabbed at him; reminding Mikey that he had never been quiet what his father had wanted, not quite a true Milcovitch, as much as he acted the part.

Feet pounded. Ragged breathing, "Mikey!?" Was called out desperately and all Mikey could do was stare at the opposite wall, frozen in place.

"Mikey, DONT!" It was Gallagher, it was always Gallagher but this time even his broken calls didn't penetrate through the layer of fog in Mikey's brain. It wasn't until Gallagher's hand had grasped his shoulder and was pulling Mikey into his chest did he respond.

Mikey didn't move, his hand stayed frozen on the trigger but Ian only squeezed him tighter. Gallagher knew he couldn't attempt to pull the gun away from Mikey's head or he would only pull the trigger, so he waited. And finally Mikey slowly dragged the pistol away from his temple until it swung loosely by his side.

Ian reached forward and wrapped his fingers around Mikey's. Slowly, he pried one finger loose and then another, until the loaded gun fell dully to the floor with a clang.

And then the air left Mikey as Ian crushed him in a bone breaking hug. It took nearly a minute but Mikey inched his arms loosely around Ian.

Ian froze but it only made Mikey tighten his grip around Ian. It was to late to pretend like he didn't care. Ian had heard it all; everything he'd said on the phone, Mikey had assumed he would be to far away or to mad to care. Ian had seen everything; he'd seen Mikey hold a gun to his own head and now, he'd seen Mikey cry.

Mikey didn't cry, Milcovitches didn't cry, then again, they weren't gay either but here he was; burying his face in Ian Gallagher's shoulder, breaking the two biggest rules of the house.

Ian wasn't stupid enough to mention it, he only held him tighter as he shook with each strangled sob.


End file.
